The Other One
by Yuul
Summary: When Mycroft admitted his lack of 'brotherly love', he hadn't thought that he would be reminded of his actions so soon. With Sherlock back from his 'exile', can the brothers work together to protect England from Moriarty when a face from their past stirs up some unrecognisable emotions and unwanted memories? Can Sherlock finally forgive his elder brother to save their sister?
1. Chapter 1

_The halls of the old and decrepit university were anything but familiar in the darkness, the light of the full moon seeping through the cracks in the boarded windows, shattered glass littering the floor. It had been years since natural light had entered this building and revealed the art and architecture, not so much less than the time that she herself had set foot in the edifice that no longer provided a setting to instil young minds with knowledge – no – tonight this place was playing host to the evil and twisted deeds of a mad man._

 _Snaking through the hallways until reaching a doorway from which artificial light was seeping under the space between the mahogany barrier and the marble, mosaic flooring. As she pushed the door, she was drowned in light, a sensory overload that stopped her in her tracks as she allowed time for her eyes to adjust. She did not have time to take in her surroundings before she felt a searing pain on the left side of her face. Instantly, she met the cold ground as her newly adjusted sight began to blur into nothing – the last thing she heard was that painfully familiar voice speak her name and ask her one simple question:_

 _"_ _Did you miss me?"_

...

 _1 year ago. Present day_

...

The flight from Moscow to London had been delayed, as per usual. The four-hour flight, plus the two-hour delay, had made for a displeased passenger, whose face showed extreme distaste for the flight attendants as they politely apologised when they were instructed to disembark the British Airways flight. This one particular passenger, face still showing clearly how unimpressed they were with the quality of service, stepped carefully down the metallic staircase of the flight, small suitcase in hand, hood pulled up to save her face from the rain. She had spent the delay contemplating whether she should maintain the large Canadian goose winter coat on her person or not and, as expected, her decision was correct. She had anticipated the lack of sunshine through sheer experience of being in London – it had been six years since she had set foot in her home country, and nothing much had changed – weather wise that was.

Her heels tapped rhythmically on the tarmac with ease as she began to follow the route from the plane and into the terminal. She did not have time to complain about the distance she would have to travel in the appalling weather when her eyes caught a glimpse of a black, unmarked car making its way along the tarmac and stop almost dead in front of her. As the other passengers began to complain about the interruption of their route, a familiar body stepped out of the vehicle.

"Olivia" the woman spoke in faux formality, her eyes remaining stuck to the mobile device that was seemingly glued to her perfectly manicured hands. Olivia simply rolled her eyes and entered the car, muttering under her breath. Such an extravagant and over display of power and economic reach. It could only have been one person. Her mood darkened as she heard Anthea instruct the driver to continue on their journey – towards the unnecessary detour Olivia had tried so hard to avoid! She had tried her hardest to make her return as low profile as possible not to spark his interest. She mentally scolded herself to believe that a fake identity on a public, economy class flight would stop Mycroft Holmes from knowing it was her. She had been sure that he'd probably known she was to return even before she'd made the decision.

"How was your flight?" Anthea asked in a nonchalant manner, still focusing her eyes on her phone.

"Small talk?" Olivia raised her eyebrow at the business woman beside her, curious as to this display of this uncharacteristic behaviour. Anthea simply shrugged in response to the question, which both new was rhetorical and more of a denial of acceptance. Olivia was not a fan of small talk, nor of the woman sat typing frantically beside her. Anthea reminded her of a part of her life she had tried her damnedest to run from, so hard, in fact, that it had driven her to the other side of the world to seek solace in the fact that things could hardly get worse – she had been wrong, surprisingly. That is one of the remarkable things about life, it's never so bad that it can't get worse. Olivia restrained the urge to smirk at the irony of the situation at hand. Ran from the wolves and straight into the bear.

It could always get worse.

The building that marked their destination was just as extravagant and garish as she remembered, yet another part of the country that had not made any modification to its state since her departure, unless you counted the new Victorian canvas painting occupying the foyer wall. Olivia has always found herself wondering how the government could justify spending such copious amounts of tax payer's money on buildings that the public would never venture into, as they were not to know that they existed at all. The answer to her question was always answered the same: It was the British government – they do what they want behind closed doors and pretend to have everyone's best interest at heart while purchasing gold plated port glasses and crystal decanters to maintain the officials happy and up to the challenge of fooling the entire country. It no longer made her angry. It was just another reason to display her distaste for the situation on her pale features.

"May I take your coat, ma'am?" The young doorman had already begun to remove the winter coast before she had a chance to respond. At any other moment, she may have been remotely impressed with the courteous and efficiency at which the young man worked. However, it was not in her nature to fake emotions. She was an open book – and this was a book that, today, had little possibility of a happy ending.

"This way" Anthea spoke, distracting Olivia from her thoughts, as she began walking towards the elevator on the far side of the foyer, small bag still clutched in her hands. Suppressing the natural impulse to reply with a sarcastic comment, Olivia simply bit her tongue and followed the footsteps along the familiar path to the office of the prestigious and, in her opinion, pompus Mycroft Holmes.

The elevator rose several floors and in silence she stood, pulling her raven hair out of the ponytail that had held it captive since the early hours of that morning. The release of tension that she felt as she swayed her head lightly from side to side calmed her nerves. Yes. Nerves. She was nervous. She burrowed her eyebrows as she admitted to herself that she was not only in a bad mood due to the fact the flight was delayed, that she had to endure the unsatisfactory company of the passengers she had the unfortunate experience of being subjected to, that she had been not so subtly 'invited' for, what she suspected, was an authoritarian state of affairs disguised as tea and biscuits with a man that she had tried so hard to keep clear of and the fact that she was nervous about the whole situation. It was not normal for her to feel nervous and the fact that Mycroft was the source of this just made her bad mood worse.

It can always get worse.

The small chime of their arrival to their destination only caused the nerves to bubble further to the surface. Anthea remained still by her side, silently signalling Olivia to take her leave from the electric box of transport and face the man that was awaiting her behind the door at the end of the corridor, on the right.

It seemed like an eternity had passed before she found herself knocking on the door, hoping that there would be no response from the other side. A foolish thought, of course, as the door opened slowly to reveal the man she had to fight the urge to slap. He simply smiled at her as he moved to allow her access into his office. Silently she obliged and waited for Mycroft to close the door and make his way over to his desk, taking a seat in a chair that she was sure could pay for a six-month stint in a town house in Camden town. He gestured her to take a seat opposite, which she silently declined

She remained stoic in her position just a meter away from the door. It made her feel more comfortable being next to her escape route, something she was sure was entering his mind as he looked over her figure. Her hair was longer than it had been when she'd left – styled, and dyed. He would deduce that this was an attempt to hide part of her past. _And he'd be right._ She weighed as much as before and had not grown at all, not unless you counted the burgundy heels that were settled upon her feet. He would say that she is insecure and likes control, maintaining a strict routine while trying to appear confident with the style of clothing and colourful pallet. _And he'd be right, again._ He's look over her clothing choice for the day – burgundy shirt, flattering, black pencil skirt, skin coloured tights and the aforementioned heels. Why would she dress so well in expensive clothes if she were to sit among 'normal' people on a germ infested fight? He would ask himself while simultaneously answering the question: she hadn't expected to be taking that flight. And why was that? Because it wasn't planned? _And again…_

"Have you quite finished?" She spoke in a bored tone as he steepled his hands under his chin.

"Indeed." He answered simply, waving his left hand nonchalantly, finally removing his eyes from her figure and fixating them with her own. "You look well" he spoke, a smile forced upon his face.

Olivia could safely say she almost felt insulted by that comment. Not because of the words he had chosen or the faux smile on his face, but because it had been the second time that day that someone had been so uncharacteristically 'charming' in their attempts at small talk. Instead of responding she simply rolled her eyes and glanced down at her watch, the hands ticking painfully slowly – she hoped that he wouldn't take long to get to the point of this thoughtless invasion on her life.

"Am I keeping you?" He spoke in an amused tone.

Although to all others that were not as familiar with the intricacies regarding the lack of emotions comprehended by this man, he would probably have seemed like he was genuinely amused at his statement. But Olivia did know him between than most and know, only too well, that is was mothing more than a ploy to gain information that they both knew he was not privy to.

 _Was he keeping her?_

Olivia mirrored his amusement, though hers was indeed genuine. He really didn't know why she had returned and the simple gesture of looking down at her watch had shown that.

"Of course not" She spoke with a huge grin on her face, pushing all the buttons she knew she could from where she stood. Mycroft remained almost static as he reanalysed the woman before him, trying to halt the exasperated look that was appearing on his face.

"Yes, well" he commenced, as he began to ruffle through the papers on his desk. "You know, Olivia, your exile has yet to be revoked so… it would be in your best interest to disclose any information regarding your reasons behind your return back to the U.K. as not to add more charges to your record."

"If you have dragged me here to threaten me Mycroft…"

"No, my dear. I have brought you here to warn you" He stood up and buttoned his perfectly tailored jacket, walking around to sit on the edge of his desk. "Stay away from him, Olivia". To this, Olivia simply rolled her eyes and decided that she had indulged him enough, taking her leave from his office.

The anger that was seeping from her core began quickly apparent on her face. It was a feeling that she had spent the past six years without – only to be thrown back into the hellish waters from once she came. There were few words that she could use to describe how she felt about Mycroft Holmes, none of which would be permitted before the watershed.

Her journey from his office, to the lobby, into a taxi and to the first hotel she found was a blur, only realizing she was finally in the comfort of her hotel room when she was greeted by a vase full of white roses and a small black card attached to the packaging. Even before she read the note, she knew who it was from.

"Show off" she whispered as she read the note, smiling at the contents.

 _"_ _Welcome Home._

 _SH"_


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Wow. Thank-you to all of you for reading the first chapter of this story. I would especially like to thank the wonderful review, the followers: kittyitty6, Warriorcats4, MarianelaMH and Losthompson; and those who favorited the story: Rose1414 & xoxoChairGossipxoxo._**

 ** _I hope you enjoy the set up to this interesting tale :D_**

 _..._

 _24 hours previously._

 _..._

The Crowne plaza was full to the brim with people as they rushed in a blaze, IPads in hand, Bluetooth headsets set semi permanently on the side of their heads as they almost screamed in every language under the sun the rates of the rise and fall of the world's financial sector. Olivia neither understood nor cared for the intricacies of the economy or the financial sector in general, however, she did enjoy the flurry that it instilled in those around her. She enjoyed watching their eyes light up when they made a good sale, just as much as she enjoyed the devastation in their faces when they had lost their client a considerable amount of money.

The coffee that morning was just as tasteless as it always was. Were it not because of her learnt aversion to drinking so early in the morning, she would have swapped the dreaded liquid for the shot of vodka a long time ago. Both did the job of warming the insides of whoever decided to brace the cold that early in the morning, but her choice of faux coffee over the vodka had come after being forced to fight those urges for many years. She came from a family of addicts… it was hardly surprising that she had fallen under the same Holmes umbrella. And it always starts with one…

It was too early anyway… she needed to keep up appearances.

Donning the overly priced glasses, she analysed the specifics of the plaza that morning. A little birdie had told her that there would be a surprise for her that morning, that morning of all mornings. It was not common knowledge to those who had grown to know her what this day represented. People would think it odd to even place it as a note in a calendar, let along 'celebrate' it, just as she thought it odd for others to do such a ridiculous thing. We all live to die – why celebrate the anniversary of the death of a loved one? That is not a thing to celebrate! And, though Olivia agreed with that in its entirety, her believe only englobed 'people'. Red beard was more than any person, and fifteen years ago, to the day, she had been told to say her final goodbye to her four legged companion. She had always taken a special moment to remember him on this day – growing ever stranger when she realized how alone she really was. It was ok to 'celebrate' with another that felt the same – but as an adult, alone in another country, even the sweet whisper of compassion meant nothing.

The letter was dropped effortlessly on her table. Had she not had half a sight on the plaza, she may not have even noticed the young woman make her way, almost too 'casually' in her direction. Instantly she pushed back the glasses upon her head, no longer serving their purpose as an identifier, pushing back the wisps of hair that threatened to obstruct her sight. With as much delicacy as its decent upon her table, Olivia took hold of the parchment, and slowly unfolded it to reveal its contents. Her eyes subtly gazed around her as she casually rose from her seat, folding the parchment and placing it in the pocket of her coat.

It was strange to think how often the simplest of words can cause such a great change in people. The message contained a simple string of letters and numbers that would be useless to all that did not understands its significance. It was a date, a time, a place, a name and a warning:

 _Moriarty_

Olivia had been too worried meticulously devising a plan to explain her sudden departure to those in her new life that she did not recognize the various pairs of eyes that had been observing her in the plaza – eyes from her past – from various parts of her old life.

...

 _Present Day_

 _..._

The morning in London was surprisingly bright, a delightful change from the snow covered cobbles that she had grown accustomed to in Moscow. The street busted with determined people, weaving amongst the crowd to meet their deadlines and reach their first destination of the day. It was earlier than she had expected as she pulled her coat around her small frame, just gone 7, but still late enough to people watch from the small cafe she had always frequented when she had lived in London, 6 years ago.

A small smile appeared on her tired features as she took a seat on the street terrace, remembering the old days when this place had always been her first destination. It had surprised her that it still remained open, and that the owner still remembered her face after so long, placing the cup of strong coffee with three sugars in front of her along with a second cup of black coffee in front of the vacant space beside her. Their memory didn't falter- and nor did the arrival of her first guest of the day.

"Good morning" she spoke, removing the paper of the three sugar sticks, one to be tipped in her own cup, and two in that if her guest.

"Morning" he responded, taking his seat beside her. She had not expected him to respond, yet it did not surprise her entirely. He would often play with her expectations, just to watch the curiosity behind her cerulean eyes. She had learned not to let it show and simply continued with her routine, placing a spoon in his cup before reaching for her own, dissolving the sugar with the anti-clockwise action of the teaspoon. "I see you were expecting me" he continued, mimicking her actions

"You are a creature of habit" she replied, taking a sip of what she had deemed her life force. Without coffee, she did not feel human. She took a moment to glance at the curious look that had appeared on his face. For someone as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes, he was quite naive at times. "In a split second you can analyse a person, yet you do not believe that you yourself can be analysed. That is Mycroft's Achilles heel also" she kept her fingers wrapped around the coffee cup, enjoying the warmth that was seeping into her cold hands. "I knew you couldn't resist letting me know that you were also savvy of my arrival and I also knew that you'd remember the time that we would meet - removing two hours of course, due to the routine I had in Moscow and taking into account the traffic and time it would take for me to walk from the station" She finally placed the cup upon the table before continuing, watching as he raised his eyebrow at her explanation. "You have been drinking the same type of coffee since I could walk and I knew that you couldn't resist showing off and meeting me here because, Sherlock..." With that she pointed at him "you are a show off" lowering her accusing finger she placed her hands into her deep pockets, proud of imposing the silent curiosity in her guest of honour.

In pure Holmes style, he silently began to drink his coffee, sulking at the woman's powers of deduction, confirming her accuracy. She had missed this game and missed his inability to not fall for such an obvious move. He had never been good at playing chess... He was always too eager to rely on his foresight, unable to realise that it was easy to manipulate that very foresight if one knew what it was... And Olivia knew.

"How was your flight?" He finally replied, sparking a victorious grin on her face.

"Dismal, but that was the plan- shame it didn't work" she shrugged, taking yet another sip of her coffee. "How did he find out anyway?"

"I have no idea" his eyes were fixated on the woman before him. "But he won't stop until he finds out why you are here"

"He doesn't know why?"

"From the conversation we had last night, after you left, he is still in the dark to the motives of your return" Olivia burrowed her eyebrows in response. It was unlike the illustrious Mycroft Holmes to meet only half of the intellectual requirements of a mystery. He knew the who, when and where - yet not the how or why. "You still have the ability to get under his skin – his manner and tone of voice was absolutely miserable" He added with a small smile.

"He's either losing his touch, or we are getting better at fooling him" she replied, shrugging once more "no matter - the longer he remains in the dark, the longer we can get on with our business without interruption."

He silently agreed his smile growing slightly on his tired features. Olivia took this moment to really look at the man before her. He had not aged a day since their heart-breaking goodbye yet there was something about him that made him seem wiser. Most likely the influence of the man she only knew from the snippets of information she had revived over the years - John Watson, his best friend. The thought always produced a smile on her face. Sherlock Holmes has a friend. She had always said he had no heart - said most often in response to his idiocies when he pushed her buttons. As much as he had tried to hide it, she knew those word hurt because whenever it was said by another he would reply with "I have been reliably informed of such a fact". It cut deep to know that he almost took her too seriously... But that was the price to pay for opening your heart to another. And now she knew that his heart was not only open to her, but to at least four others... His friends.

"Why are you smiling?" She had not noticed, but it only made her smile more.

"Don't you know?!" She asked, faux surprise seeping into her features "the great Sherlock Holmes, your skills are slipping in your old age"

Sherlock glanced at her and took her in, much like Mycroft had done yesterday, the only difference is that she was not bothered to reveal to this Holmes the parts of her life that she hid from those around her. Olivia felt like a fish out of water, stuck with a hook tentatively being placed in her mouth, for she was not only the first catch of the day, but she would be used to bait the big fish – at least that is what she had deduced from looking at the man before her. His eyes spoke sonnets, his flushed cheeks a beautiful psalm and his slim figure sang odes to tragedy and apprehensiveness. It was a shame that their reencounter was under these circumstances…

"… they would have been under no other. You know that" The surprise dashed onto her face too quick for her to prevent. It was one thing to have him aware of everything externally, but it felt like nothing less than a violation of her human rights to have him delve in her head like that. "I'm sorry" he spoke immediately, reading her displeased look with clarity. He cleared his throat, eyes boring into her own as they silently contemplated their next move. "I sold the house" Olivia simply nodded in response. She knew that he wouldn't have been able to live in their old house alone. It had nothing to do with the money – for they were not at a loss financially, but because she knew how he felt about living alone. There was only so much the skull could do for him – and the walls had too many eyes and ears for his liking.

"I will find a place" She took the last sip of her coffee, aware that time was ticking on and the longer that they sat together, the more likely those eyes and ears would catch them.

"Yes – well." He cleared his throat and arose from his seat "I have a spare room – "

"That Mycroft will monitor" she spoke, matter-of-factly

"Yes. I know. I know." The frustration was clear on his face, as it was on hers. Now was not the time for her to be thinking about the comfort of Sherlock's company, his incessant ramblings and the late night playing of the violin. Now was a time to think smart and stick to the plan – whatever it was.

"Do you have it?" She spoke, changing the subject, joining him in the act of standing. He nodded and retrieved a file from within his coat.

"He's so easy to steal from" He spoke with a triumphant grin on his face. "Oh, and here…" he pulled out a mobile from his pocket and handed it to her along with the file. "It is secure – probably the most secure phone on the planet" He spoke, a knowing look about him. Olivia replied with a simple nod with an eyebrow raised in curiosity, deciding that it was not worth pursuing at this moment. "Call me if you need me." His knowing look had changed to one of concern with a slight air of exasperation. He knew she probably wouldn't. She never did.

"Yes, yes" she spoke, literally trying to wave his concerns away, rolling her eyes at him. "I'm a big girl and survived six years without big brother to help me" she smiled at him, trying to lighten the mood

"Only because the other big brother wasn't there to hurt you" He responded almost inaudibly, but she heard it, removing any chance of redemption. He sighed and squeezed her shoulder before turning and leaving her almost dumbfounded. It took her a moment to snap out of the negativity and allow herself to return to some sort of cognitive through process. When she did, she immediately realized that something was off. She looked around the street and saw nothing out of the ordinary, no people walking to casually, no people walking to briskly – no vehicle that arose suspicion, not a look or a note that suggested that there was anything strange, but she could not shake the feeling… and she was right to trust her feelings.

Reaching into her pocket to grab the change she had intended to use for the coffees, she felt a small piece of paper where the coins were. She pulled it out from her pocket, confused at how this could have occurred. In that split second between Sherlock leaving and her feeling uncomfortable someone had slipped this paper into her pocket. It took only a second to know who the author of the note was as she read the note:

'Peek-a-boo'.

The uncomfortable feeling only grew when she felt a constriction take over her at the sight of the unmarked black car coming around the corner and towards her. She had been warned to stay away from him – and would unfortunately not be able to heed that warning. Mycroft would be so disappointed. For this reason, and this reason only, she stood still and awaiting the arrival of her second guest of the day. The door of the car opened and she complied with the silent threat, taking a seat in the back, opposite the man that she had been warned to stay away from.

"Olivia" he spoke, his irish lilt licking each letter of her name.

"James" She replied, in a bored tone.

The door closed and the car retook its course. Minutes passed before he spoke again, the evil smile sewed into his wicked lips. "Oh, we are going to have so much fun"

Yes. Mycroft was going to be so disappointed.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Thank-you so much SapphireDreamer26 and Rockabella Suzy for your reviews. The constructive criticism is extremely welcome :D. Thanks also so Iona55, Athaliie, Elliebelle4444 and DamBlueCookies for the fav and to EffyinVerland, Rockabella Suzy, Iona 55, darknesslost, SaphhireDreamer26, MissHomes, Elliebelle4444 and DamBlueCookies for supporting with a follow.**_

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It had been years coming, but the aversion to unmarked black vehicles had risen to the top three things that Olivia despised most in the world; just under the man before her and the topic of their conversation.

"How is Mikey?" Moriarty asked, glancing nonchalant through the tinted windows, watching the people of London as they go about their morning. "Did he like my belated Christmas present?" His face twisted into a wicked smile as his deep eyes connected with her own. Her face remained stoic as realization filtered into her thoughts.

"You went to a lot of effort" She spoke, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her own stupidity. She had believed that her presence in England had been orchestrated by the eldest Holmes, but their conversation and the confirmation from Sherlock just moments before had planted doubt in her mind. Yes, the two most logical reasons for Mycroft's unawareness were that the younger siblings were growing sneakier or the eldest was feeling the effects of middle age – it had not occurred to her a third option. Moriarty had planned it all along. "The ultimate problem right? Surviving? Proving you are, what… a god?" The urge grew too much to resist and her teal eyes rolled and drew away from the excited features of the man before her. "You have an awful shot – putting the gun in your mouth and missing." She scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. "Some god" she muttered under her breath.

One day she'd regret how at ease she was around James Moriarty, but that day would not be today. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at his now blank expression out of the corner of her eye. Olivia may not fall in line with the mad genius that is Moriarty, and would certainly be considered 'normal' by Mycroft's standards, but her innate ability to get under peoples skin arguably got her out of more trouble than it got her in – trouble found her wherever she was anyway… so it mattered not an extra fight here and there. It made her life more interesting, to say the least.

"Why bother?" She asked, a more genuine tone in her voice "You could have just asked, I'd have come" It was a truth that they all knew too well. Mycroft's warning to stay away from Moriarty had not come out of brotherly love and concern for her safety. No. The incessant sense of human nature to repeat their past mistakes was the reason behind her brother's words – and she hated to admit that he was probably right.

"Where's the fun in that? It was supposed to be a surprise. SURPRISE!" He laughed a hearty laugh as he raised his arms and folded them behind his head, crossing one leg over the other, nudging her leg with his foot as he did so. She shifted herself closer to the door and away from his reach, rolling her eyes once more. He sighed before continuing "You know, Olivia, this is so much more than reuniting the Holmes siblings"

Another innate ability that Olivia possessed was that of making others underestimate her. Caress the ego of a genius, challenge his intelligence and make them think they're winning. That definitely got her into more trouble than not – but it was always worth a shot. But she took a mental note of the choice of his words ' _Reuniting the Holmes siblings'._ Why would he want the three of them together again? Single strike? Kill three birds with one stone?

Dragging herself out of her curious mind, she continued. "Stating the obvious isn't becoming of you, James" She snapped, already bored of their conversation. "What do you want?" Even without looking at him, she knew that his wicked grin had returned to his charming features and the sound of him moving to sit next to her confirmed his confidence. She fought the cold chill that surged through her body when he placed his hand under her chin and guided her face to settle centimetres from his own.

"What do I want?" he repeated her question in the first person, quietly and pondered his response for a moment, his fingertips caressing her face, one by one. "It's another surprise, dearie" he laughed lightly before she removed his hand from her face.

"I have no kind feelings for surprises, James" she reminded him with a knowing look. "Now, if you want nothing more than to just flaunt your secrets as secrets, drop me off at the end of the street – I have a hair appointment" her gaze remained strong, contemplating his features. His seemed displeased with her dismissive responses, but he did his best to hide that with a forced smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Very well" he replied, shrugging his shoulders and returning to his side of the car before instructing the driver to pull over. "But you and I both know that a secret is worth its weight in gold" he said in a sing song tone, twisting his index finger around an imaginary piece of string.

Her next move would be crucial to her part in this infinite game of chess that she seemed to be playing, dragged in kicking and screaming by the three men that seemed to love playing this game of chicken a little too much. The simplest detail out of place would turn her position from Queen to kamikaze pawn. Thinking hastily, it was decided.

Too quickly did she seemingly allowed her nerves to take hold of her, ruining her strong façade as the car began to slow down. She grabbed the handle of the car and pulled down as soon as the vehicle came to a stop, but it did not open. She tried once more, to no avail.

"Oh, one thing before you go…" Moriarty began in a faux display of forgetfulness. _He bought it_. She mused. "The file" Olivia remained still, her hands still gripped to the door handle as if for dear life.

"What file?" she replied, glancing at him from over her shoulder, mustering the fakest sweet smile that she possibly could on her face. The more obvious the better.

"Livie? Don't play coy. We had an agreement" he reminded her placing his hand out and gesturing with his fingers that he knew she was lying. He had probably seen Sherlock handing her the file at the coffee shop. _Good._ Olivia made she to play on the thought Moriarty expected her to be thinking: _All that effort to retrieve the file from Mycroft and it falls straight into the hands of the man that they were trying to stop._ It would make for a more believable response. Sighing, she pulled the file from inside her coat, her other hand still clenching the door handle.

"I have eyes and ears everywhere Livie." He spoke matter-of-factly as she handed him the file "See, wasn't that easy" He spoke, as if to an infant. With a gesture, Olivia noticed that he had allowed the locks to be opened on the doors and she made for the exit.

"Oh, one other thing" He called as she tried to shut the door. "I'm going on a little trip. I'll pick you up and show you the countryside." His eyes did not raise from the file that she handed him.

"When? I may need to clear my calendar" she replied flippantly, trying to grasp onto her stronger self.

"Oh, your calendar will be more than clear. I'm sure of it" His eyes were filled with knowing joy that made her anxious. As not to allow him more satisfaction, she slammed the door shut and made her way back along the streets, evaluating everything that had just occurred, suppressing the victorious smile that was threatening to beam on her features.

To say that Olivia loved the elation that came with manipulating those around her was an understatement. True, she had not received the same level of deductive intelligence that her brothers were gifted, but what they lacked in social skills and understanding she combined with the small amount of Holmes-like intellect she was blessed with and made for a force to be reckoned with. This was what she missed most from her time at MI6. The profiling, the pressure points, the chase, the game. She felt somewhat at home again.

The beaming smile burst onto her features as she turned to corner and came face to face with her early morning coffee companion.

"You didn't call" Sherlock was leant against the wall, arm outstretched with his phone display showing ' _No Calls'_.

She shrugged "I didn't need you" she replied, her face still demonstrating what she felt had been an already successful morning. She walked past him placing her hands into her deep pockets, the change that was meant for the coffees still there. "Oops. Need to pay for the coffees"

"No need" Sherlock joined in her upbeat pace and smiled down at her. "I'm used to having to pick up your bills"

She laughed at his response. "If I bought my own coffees, I wouldn't have been able to afford this wonderful coat" She nudged him in the side as they seamlessly weaved their way around the bustling crowd that occupied the street. "Lucky thing too, it is chilly this morning" With that, she felt the subtle droplets of rain that were threatening to pour down upon them. "Typical British weather" she muttered, hunching her shoulders slightly. The bright morning was being overcome by darkened clouds. Olivia wasn't about to let it sour her mood. She slipped her arm around her brothers, walking with a slightly brisker pace.

"The file?" Sherlock asked as he too picked up the pace.

"He has it" Olivia replied, wrinkling her nose to remove the rain drop had landed on the bridge of her nose.

"He bought the act?" His tone slightly dubious

"Either that or he's been practicing his poker face – I don't know anymore" Olivia shrugged and held tighter to Sherlock's arm.

She really had missed him. Six years was a long time to be without the only person in the world that truly understood you. Surviving was easy but when you were doomed to hide part of who you were to all those that you encountered meant that you were never really able to live. Yes, she had always loved her job, going undercover, taking on some well-developed identity and working the intelligence for her country, but it was tiring and sometimes she was sure that she would lose herself completely one day. That's where Sherlock had always been invaluable. He was her totem.

As she lost herself in her thoughts, she had not realized that they had walked straight onto Baker Street, until Sherlock unhooked his arm from her own to open the door. Olivia stood dead still and shot her brother a curious look. "I don't think this is a good idea Sherlock"

Her turned towards her and smiled. "It's raining. Come in and grab an umbrella at least" He said opening the door and making his way up the stairs.

Rolling her eyes, she followed suit, sure that this would be a bad idea. Mycroft was probably staking out the house for any chance that she would be stupid enough to go there. As luck would have it, it was less than 24 hours since she had been in the country and she had already committed two stupid acts. As she stepped upon the small corridor that lead into the main room, she saw Sherlock standing, looking over to the left hand side, his eyebrows burrowed. He turned to look towards her, his expression changing to one more apologetic. Before Olivia could even contemplate asking what was wrong, a familiar spoke.

"Did I not explicitly say to stay away from him?"

Olivia slowly made her way into the living room to stand before the man sat leisurely in one of the arm chairs by the fire. Looking to Sherlock and back to the man she began to feel sick. The elated feeling had been consumed by the nervous predisposition that came with being in the same room as Mycroft Holmes.

"You're an arse" She whispered, looking towards Sherlock, who stood silent next to her.

"Don't blame Sherlock. He wasn't to know." Mycroft defended, leaning his umbrella against the fireplace before gesturing her to take a seat in front of him. "I knew he'd want that bloody phone back, so I tagged it months ago hoping to find any inclination that _The Woman_ was still alive _._ Little did I know he'd give it straight to you" He smiled the most genuine smile she'd ever seen, sucking her elation further. She noticed Sherlock's eyes twitch in frustration. Mycroft had 'beaten' him again.

"I wasn't talking to Sherlock" She spat, slumping herself in the armchair, crossing her arms across her chest in a child-like manner "Come to drag me away again? This time, make sure you are the one holding the gun to my head at the airport" she mimicked a gun to her head and pulled the imaginary trigger.

"Oh come on Olivia. Don't be like that. It's Christmas time after all" His tone was bored but his gestures showed nerves. She watched as he rubbed his thumb across his fingertips, avoiding her gaze. "Anyway, I'm not here to send you away, yet"

"Mycroft…" Sherlock began.

"Sit down Sherlock. I will get to you later" Reluctantly, Sherlock followed the instructions and sat upon the sofa opposite them.

Olivia continued to stare at the man in front of her, years of resentment threatening to bubble to the surface. She had already noticed the letter opener on the side and knew that she'd be quick enough to grab it and stab it in the neck of the man before her before he had a chance to realize what was happening – but curiosity bubbled to the surface first. "Then what do you want?"

Mycroft finally looked towards her and she knew immediately the nature of his request.

"No. I'm not doing it" She refused his silent request and pushed herself up out of the chair and hopped over to the kitchen in search of any caffeinated beverages. She opened the cupboard to see a series of beakers with what she suspected to be sulfuric acid in them, which she noted mentally as being another possible cause of death for the man still sat, pompously in the armchair looking towards her.

"You must." He merely replied

"You have the entire agency – get them to do it. Or better still, you do it" She spat

"You know I don't do the dirty work Olivia. And besides, it has to be you"

The preparation of her sarcastic retort was interrupted. "Sherlock, you there?" The sound of an unfamiliar voice coming from stairwell was a lucky distraction for Olivia as she continued to rummage through the cupboards, stumbling upon a bottle of 2011 Sicilian Merlot – not the best vintage but it might do.

Although she could not see Sherlock from her current position, she heard him raise himself from the sofa and walk towards the door to the corridor. There, through the kitchen entrance she saw him, his face just as apologetic as before. From that look she knew that he had expected Mycroft to be in the flat and had walked her right into the wolves' den. Why exactly, she had yet to work out, but she would find out sooner or later.

"Oh Sorry, I didn't know you had company" The man glanced in towards the kitchen and smiled at her with a knowing smile and a cheeky glint in his eye.

"This…" He guided his friend into the kitchen, avoiding eye contact "…is Olivia"

"Hi, Olivia" He said his smile growing as he entered the room with his hand extended. "It's lovely to meet you. I'm John"

Olivia had imagined the moment that she actually met this John Watson for years and it definitely wasn't like this. She took his hand in her own and went to speak, however, she saw his eyes move towards the sound of Mycroft raising himself from the armchair.

"John" he spoke curtly, buttoning his suit jacket before grabbing his umbrella and making his way into the kitchen.

"Mycroft" John replied, confused.

Mycroft ignored the man's confusion and stood before the youngest Holmes. "Here is the file, Olivia. I expect to hear from you by the end of today" He placed the tamperproof file on the only free space on the corner of the cluttered countertop. "And stay off the wine" He added with a sense of exasperation. He nodded to the other gentlemen before taking his leave.

"Arse" Olivia muttered, bottle of red still gripped tightly in her hand. She contemplated whether if she threw it at the corner of the kitchen door, the base of the bottle would ricochet down the stair well and hit the pompous prick in the back of the head. It was a possibility – but the shattering glass would cover the tall man that still stood staring at the kitchen floor. "That was meant for you too" she spoke, placing the wine bottle back in the cupboard, her fingers rolling into frustrated fists.

"ummm… Sherlock? Care to explain?" John Watson stood nervously, glancing from his friend to the woman he obviously didn't have a clue about. Olivia couldn't help but feel a tinge of anger in the pit of her stomach. He had never mentioned her to John.

"Yes Sherlock. Do explain." She turned and leant against her arms on the counter. She raised her eyebrows in anticipation, awaiting the fumbling explanation that was to come.

"John, this is my sister." He spoke, matter-of-factly.

"Sister?" His surprise confirmed her earlier thought. "You never mentioned a sister? What? We've been friends for years! How do I not know this?!" His eyes were wide, glancing from her to Sherlock and back again.

"It never came up in conversation" Olivia and Sherlock both said in unison, surprising both men.

"You are devilishly predictable Sherlock" Olivia whispered, the same exasperation Mycroft had exhibited seeping into her voice. "But even I am surprised you pulled this one off" She pushed herself off the side and reached out to snatch the file from the counter as she pushed passed Sherlock and descended the staircase.

"Why are you leaving?" Sherlock asked, the un-expectancy of her departure apparent in his voice.

"For the same reason you never bothered to tell your best friend about me" She shouted up the stairs. "Because you are an arse!"

Olivia slammed the door behind her and welcomed the rain fall, slipping the second file she'd handled for the day inside her coat.

She took a moment to contemplate the start to her day. It wasn't surprising that it had taken this particular turn, especially when she was surrounded by whom she deemed maniacs. How she thought that it would have gone any other way was beyond her comprehension, but it was the way it was. She had dangled herself like a bait to the big fish and it had apparently worked - then she was caught in Mycrofts net once more. She snarled as she pulled her coat tighter around her and began walking along the street. She just needed to find a safe place to sit and read the mission report Mycroft had handed to her.

 _Wonder who he wants me to kill today?_


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Ah, the downfall of life getting in the way of a story, it when the story gets written for you and published on national television :( However, this is my mind child, and I shall continue to develop it, integrating season 4 as I see fit. AU is a great thing :D**

 **I'd like to thank all of those that have favourited, followed and continue to read this story (and the others). You are what keeps me motivated to explore this hobby, and I hope you continue to enjoy the product of my madness.**

 **Yuul x**

* * *

The heat was beginning to become unbearable. She could feel a thick layer of sweat accumulate on her skin. The weight of the arm that belonged to the body she was lead beside was weighing down on her chest so much she struggled to breathe. Olivia twisted herself underneath the heavy limb and slid out of the bed with a quiet thud on the cold slate laminated floor. On all fours now, she blindly searched for her clothes, still unable to pry her eyelids from their closed state. She moved, cat like around the room, quietly donning all her clothing, except her heels, and exited the room.

With the click of the hotel door, she finally opened her eyes and allowed herself to take in the cold air of the corridor, a welcome change from the stagnant air pocket from which she just came. With the cold air came the chills that occupied her entire body. She wasn't exactly dressed for the winter - but she didn't care too much right now. She was still legally drunk and feebly attempting to put her heels on as she stumbled ungraciously down the passageway towards the lift.

"Come on, come on" she impatiently pressed the button as fast as she could in her current state. After what seemed like an eternity, she staggered into the lift, grabbing the rail as soon as she could, finally catching a glimpse of her physical state as the door shut behind her.

She looked awful.

Take a drag queen, put them in a blender, let it ferment within muddy water and you'd get a basic idea of what Olivia Holmes looked like.

"Jesus" She whispered, raising one of her hands to her face, trying unsuccessfully to wipe the eye make-up from her cheek. She then attempted to calm the birds nest that was her hair but quickly abandoned the endeavour, residing herself to the fact that she still acted like a 17 year old and this was her punishment for doing so. At least her mother wasn't around to see her - she'd be more than disappointed.

 _Like always…_

The small chime of the elevator making its stop on the ground floor was Olivia's cue to turn and walk the walk of shame through the foyer, trying her hardest to avoid eye contact of all those courteous members of staff that wished her a lovely day. She could hear the smiles in their voices, but she remained, head down and silent until she made the final steps out of the hotel she had no recollection of having entered the night before.

Just as she believed she was free to face the world full of strangers, she heard a familiar voice call her name. She was sure that she heard the doorman snicker as she sheepishly turned around to see the judgemental eyes of her eldest brother peaking over the morning's edition of The Times, sat legs crossed at a small table upon which a tray held his morning tea and, what she could only assume, was her own morning beverage, a cup of coffee, accompanied by an orange juice, a couple of tablets and a slice of toast.

"Well don't just stand there" His exasperated tone was justified. There were people, dressed from head to toe in their finest trying to use the entrance that she was blocking. Immediately, she scurried to the seat opposite Mycroft, who folded the paper and lead it on her lap, placing his hands atop the print 'matter-of-factly'.

"Eat, take, drink" He gestured towards the toast, tablets and juice with a simple nod of the head. She complied. She had no energy to argue and actually appreciated the gesture - even though she knew it was not meant to be accepted in such a positive manner. No. This was Mycroft's way of humiliating her.

She sat back in the seat and slowly ate the toast. It would have been much nicer with jam, she thought, chewing the slightly burn bread. It was slightly more effort than she was hoping to have to exert on such a trivial activity, but there was nothing she could do about it. She needed something in her stomach. Finally, she swallowed the final piece and picked up the tablets, raising her eyebrow to the man before her, who had yet to take his eyes off the woman.

"It's just Excedrin" he assured, answering her silent query. She shrugged and threw them to the back of her throat, grabbing the juice and taking a large gulp of the cold liquid. If he had wanted to poison her - he probably would have picked a less public setting to do so. _Probably._ She placed the glass back down onto the table and sank back into the chair, her eyes fixated onto a vacant point in space, about an inch above the table. Her only wish was for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

"Well?" Mycroft enquired, lifting the newspaper and flapping it violently atop the table.

"Well what?" Olivia looked up, catching his eyes,

"Don't play coy" He scoffed, reaching for his tea.

"I don't consider my current state 'play' or 'coy'" She retorted, lifting both of her hands and rubbing her face.

"Is it done?" He now began to avoid her gaze, seemingly looking around. She could see his pupils dilate as he analysed every member of the public that came within 15 yards of the pair. His choice of meeting place couldn't have been more well suited. There were more than enough people to place her in the lobby of this hotel this morning. Had she simply left, she'd have been identified as a woman that looked quite shaken and left in a hurry. But thanks to Mycroft's swift interception, everyone will thus associate her with the tight lipped man who had seemingly already upset the help, as all members of the cafe attendance team avoided their table like the plague.

"Of course it's done" She yawned. "Why do you think I look like I do?" She asked, forcefully pushing her fingers through her hair in an attempt to straighten it a little "On second thought, don't answer that" she added quickly, shaking her head, an action she instantly regretted as the world began to spin around her. She probably could have done without all the extra bottles of wine her alibi had offered her - but once she started…

You see, this had not been Olivia's first rodeo. Feigning the suicide of her victims had become something akin to a party trick. And if the death of the man that was soon to be discovered in Room 36B _were_ considered a murder, it would lead the homicide investigators around the bend on a wild goose chase that with lead them to nothing. She had been careful not to leave any incriminating evidence to suggest she'd was anywhere near the man. She'd also chosen the perfect alibi. The director of the hotel. The penthouse suite. A wild night. A lot of wine.

"Indeed. Well. Good." He began to look uncomfortable, looked away from the woman. She was sure that he was trying to block out the images that were popping into his mind about how the smart dressed woman he had spoken to yesterday had turned into the drunken mess before him. He was oh too familiar with her ways of 'dealing' with the men on her hit list. She had earned the name of succubus for a reason. Although he was far from proud of this, she was the only one who could get things done.

"Is that it?" Her voice was full of surprise, her hands falling limp on the arms of the chair.

"Is what it?" Mycroft swallowed hard, avoiding his sisters gaze.

"Now who's playing coy?" Olivia narrowed her eyes at him

"What did you expect? A pat on the back, a medal, a standing ovation?" He looked at her now, his features emotionless.

"Forget I said anything" she dismissed, pushing herself up from the chair. She really didn't need to spend more time than necessary with Mycroft and she wanted to be out of the hotel before the director awoke or the body of the man in 36B was discovered. She also really wanted to take a shower.

"You owe this country, Olivia, and you are at her disposition" He informed her, matter-of-factly.

"Owe this country?" She spoke in disbelief "This country sold me out!" She hissed

"This is neither the time nor place…"

"It never is with you." She spat. Olivia Holmes did not back down as her brother and she locked eye contact. They really had never seen eye-to-eye. Mycroft Holmes was a pompous, work-a-holic with no emotion other than a certain distaste for those he deemed beneath him. She had no desire to be tied down to any employment and loved people - sometimes a little too much. She often wondered whether she had been adopted into this crazy family, but that fact was Mycroft and Olivia were more alike than she liked to admit.

"Who was he anyway?" She finally spoke, finding the silence deafening.

"A very, very bad man" He grabbed his umbrella, folded the newspaper and set it underneath his armpit and grabbed the hat that she had not noticed, propped upon the back of the chair and stood tall over the young woman. "Thank-you" He spoke curtly, referring to the successful completion of the job he had given her just 24 hour before. "I mean it" and without another word, he exited the hotel, leaving Olivia sat, dumbfounded at the last comment he had made.

In all her years, she had never heard Mycroft thank her for anything, let alone anything work related; but she could read between the lines. When he had said 'it could only be her' - both knew it to be true. No other agent had the skills she did to do what she just did.

"Seduce and silence" She whispered to herself, returning to her seat. She grabbed the coffee that was still settled on it's saucer, no longer caring about her physical aspect. She smiled as she grabbed a sugar cube, dropped it lightly into the caffeinated beverage, and stirred. "Job done" She smiled into her cup, taking the very much needed caffeine into her system with delight, catching the eye of the man with who she had spent the night with as he walked behind the reception counter. He winked at her, a knowing smile creeping upon his face. "Oh yes" She whispered to herself, smiling back at the man" A Job well done"

* * *

It would be hours later that the body of the man would be found. The ME would put it down to a heart attack. No evidence of her being there would have been found, even if an investigation had been opened. She was too good for that. By the time she watched the news, she had made it back to her actual hotel, had taken a very much needed shower and was currently sat on the sofa, in a dressing gown reaching over to her phone that had just beeped. She had to raise an eyebrow at the message she received, a small smile dancing on her lips.

"You're getting sloppy- SH" The message read.

"I have no idea what you mean - OH" she replied

"You do. I know you do. - SH"

"I know you know I know you know. - OH"

He didn't reply - at least not through text message. Seconds later, there was a quiet knock at the door. It took a couple of seconds to register what was going on, but she jumped up and went over the door, opening it to reveal a sheepishly looking Sherlock Holmes.

"Can I come in?" He asked, his body jerking as if he was going to enter the room.

"That depends" She leant both arms upon each side of the doorway, essentially blocking the entrance with her slim frame.

"Well - on what?" He looked nervously around, already tired of the game she was about to make him play.

"On what you want" her words were direct. She still hadn't forgotten their last encounter. It still hurt to know that despite having defended Olivia throughout their lives, he was still so similar to their brother Mycroft - emotionless and inadvertently callous. Sure, she knew he never meant anything by it, but the fact that he had practically erased her from his thoughts over the past few years hurt, and he had to understand that.

"To talk" He buried his hands in his pockets and stood up straight, towering over the woman.

"Then talk" She leant against the door frame, pocking her hands much like him, psyching him out much like she knew he was doing.

Sherlock Holmes was a mercurial being, not unlike herself. He had a very hard time registering or dealing with emotions, his own or others. This was something that Olivia knew very well, and for that reason she was going to use it to her advantage. She noticed that his eyes began to dart from side to side, trying to work out which buttons he should press to exert his will, but she was one step ahead. She remained completely stoic, choosing to bury her emotions for the time being. Watching him squirm was great fun.

"Inside" He finally said, actually pointing into the room.

"Why?" She shrugged, remaining deadpan

"Oh just let me in" He rolled his eyes

"Why?"

"Olivia!" He was getting frustrated, and she had to fight not to smile

"Why?" He looked her over and huffed, turning on his heel with the aim to leave "Oh you are such a baby - come in" She shouted down the hallway, leaving the door open. She returned to her previous position on the sofa, muting the TV.

"Nice… room" She heard him say with a certain amount of forced sincerity. He had always been a terrible liar. He closed the door behind him but did not venture further into the room. Olivia shifted on the sofa to look at him.

"It's the best I could afford on the no money I have" She admitted, shrugging, pushing the cushion that had lodged itself under neither her onto the floor. There. Much more comfortable.

"I have a room -"

"I know - you've already said." She interrupted with a touch of annoyance. There were quite a few traits that all the Holmes siblings shared, and one of them was being so terribly stubborn. Despite suffering the unfavourable same personify trait. "Well?" She asked, impatient, eager to start the conversation. The quicker it started, the quicker it would end and she could continue to wallow in self-pity alone. Her head was still being attacked by the jackhammer that was her hangover.

"Who was he?" He jumped straight to it. She raised an eyebrow wondering how he'd known. The were no tell-tale signs that it was anything other than a suicide, but then again, Sherlock Holmes wasn't some dumb London cop or medical examiner.

"I don't know. I didn't ask" She shrugged, turning back to the muted TV. "Anything else?" Her tone indicating that she did not really want to have this conversation with him.

"Did you…"

"Sleep with him?" She finished his sentence. She heard his footsteps as he walked around the sofa, taking a seat next to her. She glanced at him out of her peripheral vision, noting he was extremely tense, his gaze fixated on the TV, awaiting her answer. "Yes" She finally admitted, shifting in her seat to pull her feet up upon the sofa. There was a couple of minutes silence, where she could see he was processing the information. Part of her wished he'd just get up and go. She really did not want to have this conversation with him.

"Did you have to?" He asked, and she sighed. He wasn't going to let it go.

"No - and why is it any of your concern anyway?" She asked rhetorically. "You've known all along this is the way it works"

"There must be other ways" He was looking at her now, but she remained still, her eyes clasped tightly to the moving pictures on the television.

"Probably - but i work well in a realm i know, and men…" She coughed lightly, trying to remove the frog that was clasping at her airways "Men i know well"

Olivia could feel Sherlocks eyes continue to analyse her and she did not want to know what was going through her head. The fact that she had had to admit to both brothers that she had partaken in sexual relations the night before was awkward enough, let alone knowing that both of them had images of her undertaking such acts running through their heads. It was the downfall of their intelligence - they could see anything and everything if they only thought about it.

"Well, just be careful, the police force is much more efficient these days" He finally spoke, looking back towards the TV.

"Only because they have you"

"Well, yes, but…"

"Look Sherlock" She interrupted "I can't believe that Mycroft is going to welcome me back into the agency with open arms. I'm sure it was just a one off" Sherlock visibly relaxed. Both knew the outcome of her last stint in the agency. She'd been exiled for crimes against the country that they all knew she hadn't committed. A scape-goat that Mycroft used to ensure his promotion, a position that he was still comfortably in thanks to her sacrifice. "And besides" SHe continued, needing to change the subject. "i have other things that i am more worried about." She did not see Sherlocks cocked eyebrow, but his silence was enough to know that he demanded an answer. And she gave him exactly what he wanted in the form of a name.

"Moriarty" She spoke, and his visible relaxed state returned to one that was more tense.

"What about him?"

"If Mycroft didn't know that I was coming - my return was orchestrated by Moriarty" She admitted, revealing the train of thought she'd been working on before Sherlock had arrived "And he knows everything, Sherlock" She turned to look at her brother, whose eyes mirrored hers. If anyone ever found out what they'd done… "We have to stop him, Sherlock"

"We will. I promise" Sherlocks hand met hers on the sofa. She could only muster a small smile as she thought about how true that statement was. They would stop him, and anyone else that got in the way. She wasn't sure how yet, but one way or another, Moriarty had to be stopped, even if it meant she killed him.


End file.
